The Cheeseblog

Oh! he’s got a blobby thing, a dangling thing
hanging off the end of his chin – POLYP CATT
There! he likes to run with it, bouncing it
I think he’s impressed with himself – POLYP CATT
never gonna stop, watch him go, such a hairy beast
eating all the birds, kicking ass, the whole world’s his feast
ai ai ai ai ai
whoop!

Polyp Catt!

Polyp Catt’s minion, The Partner, came a’callin’ this morning. He sashayed up the porch stairs, ears overcorrecting so’s to tune in his directions from The Boss. He stared at us through the kitchen window, twitching slightly, like he had doubled his espresso intake for fun.

do you think he’s sick, or hungry?
nah, he’s just doing Polyp Catt’s bidding. they taunt [our catt] because he stays inside and plays with string.
but that is what catts do.
not these catts.

Our catt came running from his cozy place of all-the-time-sleeping! and, puffing up his tail accordingly, approached the screen door with fire in his eyes…But The Partner, slightly myopic, we now realized, looked past our catt and, after a few seconds, turned his back and ambled back down the stairs and across the yard (with a quick stop to poop in the other neighbour’s vegetable garden.)

now he’s gone back to report to Polyp Catt that [our catt] has rejected their advances yet again.
but that’s fucked up!
that’s catt law, man. I don’t make it.

Next door, Polyp Catt spends his evenings on a windowsill, waiting for the sun to descend completely so that he may begin his nightly reign of terror. His polyp sways gently beneath his chin like one of those swinging bags that boxers hit for practice.

pow he says softly, under his breath, pow.

They will pay, oh they will pay. They will feel his wrath tonight, from a stone concealed in a washcloth, wielded by The Partner, Polyp Catt off to the side, watching with glazed eyes and a hard heart. They will pay.

YAY! Time for “10.5”; the story of a premier at the heart of a contraversial law and the labour leader who wins his heart…saint aardvark is quite hysterical with excitement. He is abandoning his corned beef hash-esque and heading for the living room with feet like blades of steel on a freshly mown ice rink.

Sign taped to the back of a car heading east on Grandview: No, Mr. Campbell, YOU cease and desist.
Sign on a picketer at St. Paul’s Hospital: Fired by a drunk liar!

Ah Gordo. You meant, well, right? You just wanted to stick to your guns and keep your promises, the ones you ran for office on, the ones about making B.C. safer for all B.C’ians? After all, you are nothing without your credibility. And you promised change, a new era, a better B.C. A shiny B.C. But some people refuse to shine! What can you do with those people? You can’t take a rag to them and polish them. If they won’t shine on their own, well, I guess you have to punish them.

Yeah, unions are pretty un-shiny. Mostly the women don’t wear makeup and the men don’t wear suits. With unions around, in the face of the media, in the national news, people might start thinking B.C. doesn’t shine after all. And then they won’t bring their business here, and then you’ll be breaking your promise. Don’t break your promise. Daddy doesn’t like it when you break your promises.

All I can hope for now is that all the many people I heard honking & saw waving their support for picketers and all the people who have surprised me with opinions opposite to what I would expect are still living here next year, 378 days from today, when it comes time to vote. Right now it’s easy to say “oh sure, only a fool would vote for Gordo’s Liberals!” But Mike Harris won a second term in Ontario despite having fucked over the people of Ontario quite thoroughly during his first. People of B.C: Shine where it counts!

Hence: a brief history of Gordo, one which makes you wonder, reading it, where the little click happened that sent him into a spiral of evil intentions. He certainly doesn’t read evil.
And some Strike info.
And then a fabulous place to take your mind off things.

June 8: there could be a cooler day but I have yet to discover it. Not only is la petite banane due on June 8, bringing her(?) unique perspective and adorableness to this uncertain world, but Jim White has a new album slated for release on June 8. Jim White is one of my heroes. The following lyrics are from the new album, which I just learned is called

Drill a Hole in That Substrate and Tell Me What You See

If Jesus drove a motor home, and he come to your town, would you try to talk to him? Would you follow him around? Honking horns at the drive thru. Double-parking at the mall. Midnight at the Waffle House, Jesus eating eggs with y’all. If Jesus drove a motor home…Buddha on a motorcycle, Mohammed in a train. Here come Jesus in the passing lane…

Does it get better than Jim White? I don’t think so. Not today.

Burt’s Bees makes a product called Avocado Hair Butter. I put some on my hair and now I wish I could eat my own head.

It’s obvious to me now that you are faced with a truly difficult situation: how to maintain the appearance of democracy, to drape yourself with the trappings of labour rights, while using your powers as a billyclub and imposing diktats at your whim.

Read the full text of Saint Aardvark The Carpeted’s angry, pre-8 am letter to High-on-Shoe-Polish-(SHINE!) Gordo here.

That there is why SAtC is my special friend.

In light of your recent decision to order the striking HEU back to work (after three whole days of job action) and to have Mr. Bruce write and impose an agreement in the interim, I am compelled to remind you that you and your wingnut associates have no place in this dispute. The point of a union is not to make some sort of symbolic point by walking off the job for 3 days and then going back to work, smiley-pie, enjoying the wage cut – oh, sorry, wage saving – they have received so that you may say “We have negotiated a deal in good faith! Faith in us, which is the only faith that matters! Yay US!”

The point of a union is to fight for equity and justice. The point of a union is to fight people like you.

So, enjoy the ride, Gordo. Hey hey. Ho ho. Etc.

I do have a martini-glass full of Love and Grudging Admiration for your incredible gall. But I also really hope you get carried out of the legislature by some burly union folk and tossed onto your pretty green lawn.

If there’s a general strike, I get to walk two picket lines! General Strike! General Strike!